All the Right Angles (1 of 3 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
All the Right Angles by Stef Ann Holm. Copyright 2007 by Stef Ann Holm.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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ALL THE RIGHT ANGLES

Stef Ann Holm

For Greg, with all my love and devotion.


PROLOGUE

GIOVANNI AND MARIANGELA Moretti walked hand in hand along Grove Street, an April sunset coloring the sky. The orange glow winked back at them from the windows in Boise's tallest bank building--all twenty-one stories.

The couple had eaten dinner at Moz Uberuaga's hole-in-the-wall restaurant--one of the few longtime businesses still hanging on in this part of town. Moz was a native Idahoan with Basque ancestry, and a spicy personality to match. His Firehouse Café served the best French fries in town.

"It's a nice evening," Mariangela said, her fingers tucked safely in Giovanni's own.

They both took in their surroundings, and Giovanni looked at the buildings with a contractor's eye. He was on a quest to revitalize the past.

The brick buildings that lined either side of the street had seen better days. Many storefronts were deteriorating, making the scorched "clinker" bricks more prominent--their eggplant coloring stood out against the faded gray mortar. Years of cold winter conditions, followed by baking summer heat, had left the buildings weathered. The street itself was narrow, with only two lanes. There was a time when deliveries made to this area had traffic backed up for blocks. But it had been a long time since this section of town had seen that kind of commercial activity.

The old marketplace was separated from the main commercial part of downtown Boise. The neighborhood had once been home to a thriving candy factory, a single-screen movie theater and a Mexican restaurant. The department store on Main Street had closed years ago, and in its place stood a pool hall where police were called in to bust up fights at least once a week.

"It sure has changed around here," Mariangela said with a sigh, her gaze sweeping across the boarded-up display window of the old florist. "I remember when Rosebud's had the best red roses in town."

Pausing, Giovanni frowned at the graffiti marring the closed-up entry. "I bought a lot of anniversary bouquets here."

"Now everyone goes to that big discount florist up on the hill."

Over dinner, Giovanni had discussed his reasons for wanting to take on the Grove Marketplace renovation project. But his wife had reservations, and they'd reached an impasse. He'd let the subject go, not bringing it up throughout the rest of their meal.

But now he spoke with quiet firmness, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual as he said, "Angela, this is why I want the project so badly. I need to bring the old downtown back, so our children's children can enjoy what we once had."

Mariangela nodded, with a wistful acceptance of what was and not what should be.

"It's too difficult, if not impossible, for Moretti Construction to get bonding on a project of this size." She gave his fingers a squeeze. "I know how badly you want it, but Giovanni . . . we can't."

He wasn't convinced. He was still filled with hope--if not steely determination.

He and his wife had discussed the Grove Marketplace renovation a hundred times. With a lot of new businesses coming to town, the growth opportunities were huge. An outside developer had tagged the area for a complete new look from the ground up, including a five-story parking structure and a four-star hotel.

The deterioration and decline that had begun nineteen years ago, when the supermall opened five miles away, would be halted. A multiplex theater, several restaurants and upscale shops were planned.

Giovanni had been waiting all his life to do a project like this.

His heart still swelled with pride for the old country, and all he had learned apprenticing as a carpenter there. He'd come into the world in 1935 in Naples, Italy, during oppression, but his life experiences had given him strength and resistance.

So had his beautiful wife of forty-four years. The moment he'd set eyes on Mariangela Castelluccio, Giovanni had been smitten. She'd been eighteen when he'd married her after a whirlwind courtship. At twenty-eight, Giovanni had been ready to settle down, but not in Naples. There were too many laws governing his choices--a tangle of statutes, rules, norms, regulations and customs for the owner of a small business to follow. He wanted to make a better life for his wife by what the Americans called "free enterprise," so he'd immigrated to the States. He'd brought with him a legacy of craftsmanship from some of the best carpenters in Naples.

Giovanni wanted to use those skills to rejuvenate Boise, to help breathe life back into what had once had energy and verve. He could save the downtown--that wasteland of empty buildings, failing businesses and dusty ghosts of glory days past.

"Do you want to get an ice cream at Maggie Moo's?" Mariangela asked, trying to distract him from his pensive mood. She knew what made him happy, and that included something as simple as a bowl of vanilla ice cream with toffee bits.

He swallowed tightly, his love for her filling his chest and giving him a soft ache in his heart. "In a minute."

Giovanni held Mariangela's hand, her fingers slight in his grasp, her gold wedding band warm from her body heat. She smelled like a combination of his favorite perfume, spring flowers and the hint of garlic that always seemed to be on her hands no matter how much lemon dish soap she used. She didn't like smelling like an Italian kitchen, but he loved the scent that was uniquely her.

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